


CANON

by gatcombepark



Category: British Royal Family
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 13:43:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2070393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatcombepark/pseuds/gatcombepark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Universal canon for the fics posted on the gatcombepark account, from Anne's point of view. Mild description of some sexual acts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	CANON

**Author's Note:**

> At the end of the day, any fic posted on this account occurs in a universe where this is the history between Anne and her husbands (unless an AU with an alternate timeline is specified). It is heavily grounded in actual events known to have occurred, but the more personal elements of the relationships are of course imagined. Should new, verifiable information come out at some point that differs majorly from what is printed, alterations may be made to this work in the interest of accuracy.

Mark was kind enough at first. He wasn't always the best in bed- maybe he was more concerned with himself, maybe I made him nervous, or maybe I'm just hard to get off, but more often than not, he spent himself long before I was even close. At first, when that happened, he would make sure I finished anyways, gently bringing me off with the touch of his hand and then holding me in his arms as we fell asleep. That changed later, though.

The pregnancy with Peter wasn't particularly difficult physically, but the hormones raging in my body left me feeling tired, moody and not at all interested in sex more often than either Mark or I really liked. Add to that a mandatory abstinence of some six weeks to heal after the birth, and I'm fairly sure that this was when he first began pursuing other women. When we finally did sleep together again, he seemed somewhat detached, as if the whole pursuit were a chore. I'm sorry to say that the same was more or less true on my end.

We saw less and less of each other over the next few years, as my duties kept me out of the house almost as much as his equestrian schedule. There was still the obligatory night every now and then- birthdays, our anniversary, and so on- but we grew more and more distant both in and out of the bedroom. Somehow Zara's conception was managed in spite of all this, but as hard a time as Mark was having reaching his own climax at this time, it should come as no great surprise that he no longer paid any attention to mine. I more or less had to take matters into my own hands, as it were.

I'm sure you're wondering whether all the stories told by my former detective Peter Cross are true. While I did seek _emotional_ comfort from him on more than one occasion during his short stint as my police officer, no physical relationship developed between us. Would it have happened had he not been removed from the job when he was? I don't know. Perhaps.

As it stood, Mark was flying about the world, shagging anything that would stay still long enough (though I didn't know it at the time) while more or less ignoring me. I couldn't seem to find a horse of sufficient quality and temperament to compete well internationally either, so in lieu of that hobby, I threw myself wholeheartedly into my work diary, drastically upping my number of engagements and patronages in an attempt to keep my mind occupied and off my growing loneliness. We still interacted when we were both home, and usually in a more or less friendly manner, but those occasions grew less and less. There had been rumors in the press on the state of our marriage for some time now- not exactly unfounded- and when it got out that we weren't even sharing a hotel room at the 1984 Olympics in Los Angeles, they found their confirmation.

As if that weren't enough, in 1985 it 'just so happened' that a woman by the name of Heather Tonkin gave birth to a child whom she claimed was fathered by Mark. While Mark refused to acknowledge her in public, it was no secret between us that the woman's claims were completely accurate. The resulting row- things may have been thrown- led me to the realization that even our current arrangement of mutual disregard was likely destined for failure, but for the sake of the children, I committed to staying married to Mark, even if in name only, for as long as I could. (Since then, I've come to wonder if being spared the next four years' worth of domestics and angst might not have been better for them, but they harbor neither of us any ill will, so I suppose they're not particularly troubled by the way things went.)

Of course, when I made that commitment I hadn't met Tim. (Well, I suppose I might have seen him in passing while he was working on Britannia, but we hadn't formally been introduced.) And oh, how everything changed when I did. We both instantly found each other attractive, but it went so much deeper than the physical relationship. He had an inherent concern and tenderness towards me that filled a need I hadn't even known I had. While he wasn't terribly experienced sexually- he had been at sea most of his adult life and, being the type for a steady relationship, hadn't tried to lead some poor girl on only to leave her on his next deployment- he was careful and gentle, following my cues and picking up on desires before I could even mention them. Such was really the case in everything- the man could (and still can) read me like a book, and took care of my needs before I even realized I had them.

In spite of his relative lack of experience, Tim had a way of suggesting things I had never heard of. I suppose even in the happier years my relationship with Mark must have been quite _dull_ by a conventional standard. Once, in an echo of earlier days, I lay more or less unmoved as Tim reached his peak, but then found myself very surprised as he immediately dove beneath the covers and used his tongue to bring me to orgasm with ease. I had heard of women taking their husbands in their mouths, and had even tried it once or twice with Mark, to little success, but had never given any thought to the possibility that the favor could be reciprocated. Needless to say, I was delighted to find out in the manner I did.

While he did not share my love of horses like Mark, we had enough in common to encourage conversation about our interests- particularly sailing- and so our relationship grew outside of the bed as well as in it. On more than one occasion I took my children to visit, and we barely even touched each other beyond a furtive kiss hello- and yet I left as happy and fulfilled as those times when we spent the entire liaison in each other’s arms. For the first time, I truly felt complete and content with my lot in life. Perhaps we couldn't marry, but we could continue to see each other and enjoy it when we did.

A few years into the development of our relationship, Tim suggested something else I had previously considered the domain of those far more adventurous than myself. While assuring me that he had seen nothing of her in years and that she meant absolutely nothing to him now, he brought up that he had once been involved with a woman who referred to herself as a 'dominatrix' - and exactly what that had entailed. He spoke of it as if the whole affair had been immensely satisfying, and the idea of power and control struck me as appealing (my sexuality now catching up in its maturity to the rest of my personality), so I decided we might as well give it a try.

When one is in my position, one has the advantage of rather discreet channels of access to even the most lurid and uncouth information, and so I soon found in my possession more guides and directives regarding the practices known as BDSM than I could possibly know what to do with. I read it all- from a little treatise stressing the necessity of a safeword to an extensive guide on knots and just how to use them to restrain one's unwitting sub. We began slowly- a blindfold here, hands tied to the bed there- but both took to it like ducks to water, and it's been a regular fixture of our sex lives since.

By the time the details of our affair were leaked to the paper, it wasn't exactly a secret between myself and Mark, nor myself and the Queen, what was going on. Some others in the family- my father in particular- were a bit more surprised by the extent of the relationship, but before too long everyone was more or less in agreement that more good had been done than harm, and so we were allowed to continue. Mark and I separated, but the prospect of divorce was not immediately considered- recall what I said about the children earlier, along with the issues I ran into both with my family and the constitution.

Tim's appointment as equerry ended in the fall of 1989 after the usual three years, but his next posting was a desk job in London so we continued to see each other when I was about for engagements. I would also sometimes visit him at his home in Winchester, as I had been doing since the relationship began. After two or three years of this rather awkward arrangement, the Queen spoke to me about the prospect of divorcing Mark and marrying Tim. It was she who pointed out to me that having the ceremony in Scotland would allow us to circumvent the Church of England's statute on the marriage of divorcees, and so plans were made for a private ceremony at Crathie Kirk. The wedding turned out to be an optimistic ending to a frankly terrible year for my family, and a long-awaited fulfillment of a deep-seated desire for myself and my husband.

The remainder of the 1990s passed without incident. Tim was promoted and given command of a ship shortly after our wedding. He would spend months on deployment, then return, at which point we would certainly do everything in our power to make up for lost time. In the intervening periods, his infamous letter-writing skills were put to good use; I received one from him on an almost weekly basis and sent as many back the other way. This arrangement could have continued forever, but as he puts it, the Royal Navy decided he was 'too old and dangerous' to remain posted at sea, so he was given another desk job in London. That's when the trouble began.

My husband has never been his happiest sitting at a desk. A desk that forces him to stay away from home five days of the week affects him even more. Add to that my own stresses from the children growing up and the 'change of life', and there were some rough moments had between us there in the early 2000s. I missed him, and he missed me, when we couldn't be together, but when we were, it often felt like we barely knew each other anymore. To his credit, however, he absolutely refused to give up and continued to doggedly spend time reacquainting himself with his own wife.

After several years of this madness, he came to the realization that in no way could he continue living like this for the remainder of his life. Pension age for the Navy would be coming up soon, giving him the option of retirement. While he was considered valuable to the MOD, who were in no hurry to push him out the door and off the payroll, defence cuts meant that anyone leaving the Forces was being offered a fairly handsome severance package. So, having weighed the options, he made the extremely difficult decision to leave his beloved Navy career and take on a new life with a more flexible schedule that allowed him to be with me as often as he liked.

Neither of us has slowed down, but we are able to relax a little knowing we will spend the rest of our days at each other's side. It's nice to be able to bring him with me when I travel for royal or IOC engagements, and I'm certain he's as pleased as I am with our regained closeness. We neither want nor need to be together every hour of every day, but the time that we are in each other's company is always well spent. He's still the best thing that ever happened to me.


End file.
